


Long Way to Samarcan

by Codadilupo



Category: The Last Unicorn (1982), The Last Unicorn - All Media Types, The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Music, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Personification of Death, mature content, mention of infant loss, mention of relationship between two original characters, some uncomfortable themes ahead, there we go spoilers!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codadilupo/pseuds/Codadilupo
Summary: A frightened soldier asks Molly Grue and Schmendrick to help him run away from a woman dressed in all black, who is staring at him with evil eyes. Stories, memories, and thoughts are shared during their journey.
Relationships: Molly Grue/Schmendrick





	1. TO SAMARCAN

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, a couple of warnings: I put some topics in this fiction some people might find uncomfortable (such as death, grief, loss). They are part of the underlying theme of these short chapters. For some people, the chapter "Medea" might be a little grim, even though I tried to just hint at its main theme.
> 
> I'm a huge melomaniac, and music is not only a great source of comfort and company for me, but also of inspiration.  
> This fiction is the result of a draft of an idea I had while listening to one of my favourite songs, "Samarcanda," which has the perfect setting for a Molly and Schmendrick fiction. I gathered a few more songs that could complete the picture, and I split the title song in two, the first chapter and the one that will be the last. Each other chapter has been inspired by a song (I'll put the title at the beginning of each chapter, along with a very brief description, since all the songs are in Italian), and is titled after the name of one of the characters, being a protagonist or a merely mentioned character, except, once again, the first and the last chapter.

TO SAMARCAN

_Song: Samarcanda (Roberto Vecchioni), first two verses._

_A soldier, during the celebrations after the end of a war, notices a woman dressed in black glaring at him. Scared, he decides to run away. It’s pretty intuitive to understand who that woman is._

The celebrations were glorious as usually are after long, heart-draining wars. Along the torch-illuminated streets of cobblestones, men, women, old and young alike were singing, dancing, jumping up and down, drowning the anguishing fear that had plagued them the previous months in wine as red as rubies. Songs, and laughter, and cheers echoed around in the frenzied bliss unleashed for the occasion. War was over; their soldiers had come home victorious. It was time to silence the drums of war and let the joyous sound of tambourines fill their hearts until dawn, after it, beyond it.

The auburn-haired woman looked around, absorbing the feeling of glee and light-heartedness that surrounded her; it felt almost as if she was a child again, during a celebration in her hometown. As she was hinting a couple of dance moves, a hand wide and warm with wine, happiness, and excitement grabbed hers and made her spun, catching her by surprise.

“War is over, my lady!” the owner of the hand cried, taking her by her shoulders and looking at her with a broad, child-like smile that starkly contrasted with his apparent age of 50 years old. “It’s over! Our soldiers are home! _My boy_ is back home!” He made her twirl again, laughing and laughing again, before letting her go dancing around a bonfire of uniforms.

“Conquering hearts already? My, I might get jealous,” Schmendrick mockingly said, holding her up, as Molly Grue stumbled back, still weirded but merry at the same time, flustered. “Mind your steps. You might fall down.”

“Oh, but I was sure you would have caught me.”

“Were you? How trustful.”

“They were sure eager for the war to end,” Molly commented, as they made way through the crowded streets, politely declining invites to dance, glasses of wine, and a few more explicit “propositions” from drunken townfolks.

“Who wouldn’t be, after all?”

The couple was forced to stop to let a stream of soldiers walk through the decumanus. Some of them were already drunk and were ripping their uniforms with loud laughter; others, tipsy but not yet smashed, clutched to girls, sung corny but jaunty hymns to love and freedom. The youngest among them looked around, with awkward, nervous smiles, inebriated by the cheerfulness that was being showered around and on them.

“So,” Schmendrick said, discreetly letting his hand reaching for Molly’s as they waited in the crowd. “You knew I was ready to catch you before you fell on the ground?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How so?”

“Because I would do the same for you.”

“Says the same person who let me fall like a sack of potatoes not later than a week ago?”

“Oh, my God! How many times do I have to apologize for that!? I hadn’t seen you fall, that’s all!”

“Mh-hm. And, suppose I now feel too light-headed,” Schmendrick, pretending to be dramatic, brought a hand to his forehead. “You know, the crowd, the music, all these overwhelming emotions...”

“Oh, poor wizard,” Molly mocked him, placing herself behind Schmendrick and holding out her arms. But just as he was letting himself fall behind, someone touched the woman’s shoulder. Molly winced and turned, instinctively. Schmendrick magically halted his fall mid-air and stared at Molly, precariously balancing on his heels, his arms crossed on his chest.

“You did it again,” he commented, raising his forefinger against her, dead-serious. “Why, aren’t you-”

His protests were cut short by Molly; she grabbed him by his tunic and pulled him back up, dragging him away, in the direction of the one soldier who had tapped on her shoulder, and that was now gesturing them to follow him. Molly’s first impulse had been to just dismiss him: maybe he had mistaken her for someone else, perhaps he was just pranking her and really wanted to see Schmendrick tumbling down, or it had been just an accident... But the soldier’s eyes were so beseechingly frightful, so confused and scared, that the only thing she could do was find out what was the matter.

“I’m sorry to bother you, my lady, my lord,” he said in a rushed whisper. “I didn’t know what to do, or to whom ask help, and-” he sighed, clearly conflicted about what else to say, maybe regretting to have dragged those two foreigners in his business.

Molly put her fists on her hips. “Well,” she said, “no time to back away, now, soldier. What do you want from us? You look like you have seen a ghost or something.”

“Kind of,” the soldier replied, curtly. “But it’s no ghost I saw. It was _Her_. _She_ was glaring at me, among the crowd.”

“Whom are you talking of? Who is _She_?” Molly was feeling a little nervous. She didn’t like the tone of the soldiers’ voice, the anguished tingle it had, accompanied by the most frightened look she had ever seen on a man’s face. And Molly had seen some stuff in her life...

“ _She_... She was dressed in black, from head to toe, and she was staring at me, with evil eyes.”

Schmendrick hadn’t said a word for the entire conversation in the attempt to assess the situation and decide if the soldier was a threat to them, a poor madman, or just a regular drunkard. The soldier looked like none of the possible options, and the magician could tell that he was sincere. Something, or someone, _had_ scared the living hell out of him. He glanced at the crowd and slowly scanned it, looking for whoever had upset the soldier so much. His green eyes widened a little, and Schmendrick paled as soon as he looked in the direction the soldier had pointed them.

“Schmendrick?” Molly touched his arm lightly, noticing his stare. She knew that look very well, and it always scared her. Molly knew Schmendrick could see things she wasn’t able to perceive. Usually, it was no big deal, and as long as Schmendrick was at ease, she was too. But when he made that face, she knew it was bad news... The magician came back to himself.

“How long has She been staring at you?”

“I don’t know, I noticed her some minutes ago...”

“Did She tried to follow you?”

“No. She’s just standing there, glaring.”

The magician bit his lower lip, concerned. She was still there, unmoving, draped in thick, black garments, pale, terrifying, and beautiful at the same time. And Her eyes, fixed on the soldiers, were... Schmendrick didn’t know how he could describe Her eyes, to be fair. The only thing he was sure of was that they were persistently staring at the man. She wanted him.

“Will you please explain what is going on?!” Molly intervened, shaken but annoyed by all those mysteries. Schmendrick leaned on her and whispered something that made her open her mouth in a gasp of horror. “We have to get him out of here!” Molly blurted, “We can’t let it happen!”

“Molly...”

“Do not ‘Molly’ me, Schmendrick! How could we not even try to help him?”

With a low, frustrated sigh, Schmendrick excused himself to the soldier and pulled Molly a little closer to him, far enough from the men to not be heard but close enough to not make him think that they were definitively ditching him.

“Molly, you know better than me that if She wants him, there’s nothing we can do...”

“So, what’s your plan? Just abandon him to his doom, without at the very least giving him some hope?”

“What good would make for him? No one has ever deceived Her, Molly, you know that. We both do, as we both know what wishful thinking and false hope can do to desperate people.”

Molly’s look hurt him, and he knew he had gone too far. Too personal. He held her hand and sighed; after all, why shouldn’t he have given her that? Maybe trying to help the soldier was what she needed, what they both needed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You are right. We should do this...”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he nodded, with a strange look in his eyes, like he was trying with all his might not to cry. “Yes.”

The soldier hadn’t moved for their entire conversation, waiting patiently, if a bit wary. He wasn’t surprised to learn that the couple was willing to help him.

“I will never thank you enough for this,” he said with a heartfelt accent, relieved. “I won’t bother you for long. I’ll need your precious company until I have reached for Samarcan.”

“That’s just a three days ride from here,” Molly calculated. “If we leave right now, maybe we can-”

“It’s a three days ride if you ride through the desert. Given the circumstances, that’s the worst route we can take...”

“Right. That would call Her upon us faster than a hawk on its prey... Better take the longer trail, crossing the strait and bypass the desert, even if it might take a few days longer.”

Discussing this, the trio had left the warmth and comfort of the celebrating streets for the darker, narrower paths leading to the harbor, the surroundings becoming lesser and lesser welcoming and pleasant. Pitch darkness enveloped them, forcing Schmendrick to lead the way, magically illuminating the night ahead of them.

“A wizard, the very thing,” a sharp, raspy voice came out suddenly from an alley, startling the three of them. “What’s a fellow mage lurking around in such sketchy surroundings?”


	2. PHILEMATHOS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whimsical astronomer accompanies the trio to the harbor.

PHILEMATHOS

_Song: Bisanzio (Francesco Guccini)_

_An old astronomer living in Byzantium wanders around pondering about the direction the city has taken and wondering if he had ever understood it at all... Old age sometimes can be tricky._

The newcomer, draped in a very old, purple linen cloak, did not sound nor look menacing, despite his scary entrance. There was something off about him; maybe it was his very, very old age that gave him the appearance of a decrepit walking bog body; it was perhaps his left eye, blurred by cataract; or maybe it was merely the out of nowhere familiarity he was addressing Schmendrick with.

“It’s been a long, long time since wizards, seers, sorceresses had ceased to stop over in our fair, absurd capital,” the old man went on. “My, I was still at the beginning of my studies in astronomy when I last saw one. But please, walk on, I’ll escort you to the harbor, where you are bound.”

“How would you know?” the soldier, already on edge, jumped up nervously, ignoring Schmendrick’s gesture.

“Oh, there’s plenty of things I know that lay beyond your comprehension, son... Look,” he held out a decrepit hand, pointing at the sky. “Look at the moon, smothered in a vague, reddish mist... An ominous sign, despite the celebrations, leering over you and ready to leap-”

“Alright, enough of this,” Schmendrick blurted, annoyed. “He’s already frightened enough without you babbling about bad omens and making-up phony ‘horoscopes.’ Tell us what you want, and leave us alone.”

“But I can tell you might need some guidance of the mystical sort. Let me be of help, will you? Palms out, please, my lady,” the old man tried to hold Molly’s hand, but Schmendrick was having none of it.

“For the last time, what do you want? Who are you?” the wizard was starting to conjure his power, more to scare off the old man, rather than hurting him – he was sure that he could pose no threat. Schmendrick preferred to distance the astronomer himself instead of having Molly doing so, since he knew well that his companion sometimes did not know how to dose her strength...

The man bowed, courteous, ignoring Schmendrick’s’annoyance, “My name’s Philemathos, archiater, mathematician, astronomer. Sage, maybe.”

“Yeah, right,” Schmendrick was still trying to dismiss the man, but Philemathos pursued them relentlessly, so he gave up. Clearly, the guy was alone and seeking company and wouldn’t have let go of them so quickly. Better let him tag along for the moment.

“I was working on a horoscope, but I lacked courage and knowledge to – too many confused omens, and the stars are shifting - so I started wandering around the city unknowingly, like a blinded owl aimlessly stumbling around, waiting for dawn to come. Ah, old age,” Philemathos shook his head, now looking serious, after the stream of spirited babbling he had smothered them with. “I’m getting too old, you know.”

“How did you know we were heading to the harbor?” the soldier insisted, looking around nervously.

“I told you, I’m an astronomer, a soothsayer-”

“Oh, for the love of-” Schmendrick huffed impatiently. “Of course he knew. I know that there’s a magic of its kind in a good observer, as he seems to be, but there’s no such thing as predicting the future! That’s just-just baloney! He figured out: Molly and I are clearly foreigners, we are walking in the direction of the harbor... He just made two plus two!”

“Whoa, Schmendrick, calm down,” Molly looked at him, weirded. Since when did Schmendric get so pissed for so little? They had come across some lesser mages, during their travels, second-rate tricksters, but given Schmendrick’s past, of course, he had never made a big deal of it.

“Pay no mind to him, my lady,” Philemathos made a dramatic gesture. “The art of divination is often frowned upon and scorned by the trade your partner is part of.”

“And for a good reason!” Schmendrick insisted, still defensive. “As great one’s power can be, as mighty a wizard can get, no one has the gift, or curse, to be able to see the future. No magician in his right mind would claim to be a soothsayer or such, as appealing it might sound to someone,” he glared at the soldier. “I know what these so-called fortune-tellers aim for, at desperate people’s expense.”

“Why, now you are doing me wrong,” Philemathos said, untouched by Schmendrick’s mistrust. “I’m simply escorting you to the harbor while exploiting your pleasant company for my own benefit. You are quite an amusing fellow.”

“Come on, Schmendrick,” Molly, smirking, patted on Schmendrick’s shoulder as he, his lips tightened, muttered something unintelligible. “Quit being so touchy and behave.”

They walked through the dark streets, passing shady dives that echoed with the guttural swearing of mercenaries and the obscene singing of fuddled soldiers, busy whorehouses, where girls ogled at them with shallow, painted eyes, and the Hippodrome. As relentlessly pesky Philemathos’ company might feel at times, he surely knew his way through the labyrinth of alleys, guiding them through and leading them down safer shortcuts, helping them finally reach for the harbor.

“Well, here’s your destination. Or, I should say, your beginning,” the old Philemathos shuddered a little and yawned. “Have a safe crossing.”

“Thanks for your help and for your company, I guess,” Schmendrick cleared his throat. “No hard feelings?”

“None whatsoever.”

“What will you do, now?” the soldier asked, politely.

“Who knows? I might get back in my tower, but it’s cold in there, and sleep keeps eluding me. There are too many things I do not understand that torment my poor head, too many things I try to grasp, but all my science cannot figure everything out. But you,” Philemathos rose his eyes on the soldier. “You are embarking on one desperate trip, aren’t you? I would, too, if I were younger and I had been glared at by Her.”

This time, even Schmendrick felt on edge hearing Philemathos statement. There was no way he could have known that or guessed it. “How do you-?”

“People my age sometimes mistook life for death, and vice versa,” the old man went on, without paying attention to them anymore, just looking at the water. “You cannot tell which of them has passed and grabbed you by the wrist... But younger people – oh, they know, they know, and they fear, just like you, son. But now... Now, I think I’m longing for Her to come.”

Venus had already risen, and a light wind was blowing. “Another night has gone,” Philemathos commented, looking at the planet, thinking about omens and portents he had been studying and had seen, feeling so old and tired, unable to understand them, at the edge of life. Without turning at the trio, he covered his head with his cloak and whispered, “Farewell, my friends.” 

The dim light of dawn was starting to spread, reviving the grayish shadows that had surrounded them, painting them with delicate colors. The harbor looked alive, vibrant, a promising starting point for their journey to Samarcan, the ground they were walking on diving itself into the greenish water of the sea, before it re-emerged in the distance, on the other side of the strait.

Philemathos had vanished, almost under their eyes, in a snap of a finger, leaving them bewildered, confused. He couldn’t have walked away that fast... It should have been possible for them to still see him in the distance, somewhere. But there was no trace of the archiater, mathematician, astronomer, and self-proclaimed soothsayer who maybe knew far more than he pretended to.


	3. MOLLY

MOLLY

_Song: Franziska (Fabrizio de Andrè)_

_Franziska is in love with an outlaw, and she starts to wonder if her romance is worth all the limitations it comes with. The rhythm is catchy and cheerful, but the lyrics are sure sad!_

The early morning sun rays hadn’t yet started to warm the surroundings, and the sea spray splashing on Molly didn’t help at all. She shivered, staring at the deep-teal colored waters surrounding the raft. She calculated that they were halfway-through their crossing; they had 20 minutes more to wait before they could set foot on dry land. A warm cloak was draped around her, and Schmendrick sat down by her, tsking.

“Were you going to keep on freezing without saying anything, Molly?”

“I wasn’t so cold.”

“Yeah, right. Come on, you troublesome woman, hands out,” Schmendrick held Molly’s hands, lovingly warming her up. He concentrated magic in them and let her palms rest on his own.

“That looks convenient,” the soldier, Fabio, commented, looking at them.

“Perks of magic. Besides, it surely is more practical and more pleasurable for the both of us, rather than slapping those two frozen fishes that she persists in calling her feet on the small of my back at night because she says she’s cold,” Schmendrick poked Molly’s cheek with his index finger, mockingly. She batted his hand away.

“I don’t do that!”

“Oh, you don’t? Did I slept by a barbegazi’s side without knowing it two nights ago?”

“I was just messing with you!” she elbowed him, and Schmendrick pretended to be offended, unfailingly making her laugh.

“How long have you been married?”

“We aren’t married, Fabio,” Molly said, maybe a little too short with him. To be honest, she didn’t like people making assumptions about her and Schmendrick, even though she knew that Fabio meant well and was probably just trying to ease his mind a little and get to know his travel companions better.

“Aw, Molly, don’t be so harsh on him,” Schmendrick gently rubbed her hand.

“Alright, alright, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“That’s my wifey,” Schmendrick sneered.

“Oooh, don’t you even start!”

“Wifey!” Schmendrick threw his arms around her and smooched her cheeks, intentionally trying to tease her.

“Let me go, you ninny! Thank goodness we are not married. You would be unbearable!” Molly wriggled herself from his grip and batted him away. She turned her head in the instinctive gesture of hiding a smile. She didn’t remember when that habit had started; it had stuck with her, a long, long time ago.

“How long have you been together, then?” Fabio asked. He had witnessed his two companions exchange with an amused smirk.

“For some time,” Molly glanced at Schmendrick, who was now busy looking at the waves, the green of his eyes melting with the color of the sea, still holding her hand. “Measuring time has stopped having meaning long ago, after all.”

“Well, you might get to tell me your story while we travel. I’m a romantic bloke, even under my dogface soldier attire.”

“I’m sure you are,” Molly chuckled quietly, brushing her locks backward and inhaling the salty, powerful air. That air recalled so many memories to her mind, some more recent, some not so quite. She remembered the first time she had seen the sea when she was twenty, while running away with Cully.

She didn’t want to remember what had happened to her after that foolish elopement, but she could not forget, as she couldn’t forget how it started. Oh, their first meeting... That alone should have been a sign for her that Cully might not exactly be the brave, dashing, cunning outlaw he pretended – and wished – to be. She was eighteen, and as she was heading to the chicken coop to retrieve the eggs, she had noticed someone lurking around, trying to lure out one of the hens.

Molly had rolled up her sleeves, picked up a log, and marched towards the intruder. Like _hell,_ she was going to let a chicken thief guttersnipe having his way right under her eyes. She loudly cleared her throat, and a freckled, pale face had risen to see her approaching. Molly knew there were some vagrant outlaws in the woods surrounding her village, but she wasn’t scared of them.

“Say, did you perchance lose something?” she mused, casually weighing up the log, with the calmest, most unimpressed voice she could come up with. The young man shook his head slowly. “Then get the hell out of our coop!” Molly growled, waving the log, a fist on her hip, her hair wildly framing her face.

He took a few steps back before he straightened up, puffed his chest a little, giving himself an air of importance, and opened his mouth.

“I-”

“Time’s up. I gave you the occasion to run, and you’ve wasted it,” Molly started walking towards him, rising the log. “Ready or not, here I come.”

Now realizing that that crazy horse girl was talking seriously, the outlaw made a run for it, scared. “I’ll see you again!” he shouted above his shoulder.

“I hope for you we won’t because you’ll receive all the thrashing you didn’t get tonight, plus more!” Molly yelled at him.

Of course, they did meet again and again. Each time Molly was alone, Cully was there, stealing glances from his hide-out behind trees. They soon started talking, spending time together – of course, secretly, since there was a bounty on the man’s head. Little by little, Molly had fallen for him and for the life he promised.

She was his Pole Star in the sea of his woods, his moon and his blessing in the net of his own illusions. Molly was a reassuring presence in his otherwise erratic existence. When she wasn’t there to keep him warm at night, he would clutch to her scarf, dreaming of her eyes.

Molly would have waited at her window for a sign from him, eagerly, and each night they spent together made her feel both so enamored and so sharply sad. Her life at the village wasn’t the same anymore: she could no longer dance during village festivals, knowing that her true partner was hidden behind the trees, but not daring to come for her. Young men her age feared to smile at her, knowing that she was the woman of a bandit – if only they had known that Cully was as threatening as a pigeon...

Running away had seemed to her the only logical outcome of their romance. Only that way they could be free, live together in the woods, far from all the stares, living their own adventures, like Robin and Marian. If only she had known. But she was so young, so guileless! How could she know? Her punishment had been far too harsh for one youthful indiscretion.

“Molly? Are you still with us?”

Schmendrick was gently shaking her, concerned; in the last couple of years, he had come to be wary of the moments Molly would stare at nothing, silently, like the way she had been doing in the past minutes. He knew too well what she would probably be thinking about. 

Molly winced and jumped up to her feet, removing his cloak from her shoulders. They had just got to the opposite bank of the strait and were ready to land. She had been spacing out for quite some time, without realizing it.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she grumbled, awkwardly, jumping off the raft. She actually felt more at ease on the land. Never been much of a sea woman. “Schmendrick, I’m fine, for real. Stop worrying about me.”

"If you say so,” still unconvinced, Schmendrick thoughtfully wrapped an arm around her waist, forcing himself to keep quiet, to not upset her any further, in the case she wasn’t really thinking about what he feared.


	4. SCHMENDRICK

SCHMENDRICK

_Song: Walter il mago (Luciano Ligabue)_

_A nostalgic, sweet song about a good-natured, second rate carny magician... Do I really need to further explain why this song makes me immediately think of Schmendrick?_

The forest was surprisingly thick. They didn’t expect that, to be fair, being so close to a desert. Molly rolled her eyes as Schmendrick engaged in one annoyingly long explanations of the phenomenon, with a wealth of uselessly complicated details that further confused Fabio.

“I- I still don’t get it, I’m sorry...” the soldier blinked at Schmendrick as soon as the wizard finally stopped talking.

“That’s fine, let me start over,” Schmendrik was about to resume lecturing Fabio when Molly spurred her horse close to him and pinched his ear.

“Alright, pencil-neck, the lesson’s over. Leave Fabio alone and quit with this babble. You are giving me one hell of a headache, and our fellow here is way too polite to tell you to stop harassing him.”

“I wasn’t _harassing_ him, Molly, I was just answering his question about why this forest is so green and lush despite-”

“That wasn’t an answer, Schmendrick. That was an assault on his ears.”

“Ah, now, Molly,” Fabio intervened, while Schmendrick huffed, scorned. “It’s not his fault if I’m a little too dense sometimes.”

“Fabio, feeling overwhelmed by Schmendrick’s exceedingly sophisticated explanations of topics that would require half the words he normally uses does not imply you are dense, but only that sometimes Schmendrick likes the sound of his voice way too much to realize he’s cumbersome.”

She turned to Schmendrick, who was now riding in silence by her side, frowning. “Hey, are you mad now?” she poked him on the arm. “Do I have to start tickling you? Even if that would make you fall down from your horse, ticklish as you are?” Molly held out an arm and tried to tickle the wizard.

“You’re the one who’s going to fall if you overreach like that, you madwoman!” Schmendrick surrendered. He just couldn’t keep holding a grudge with her.

“Anyway, you must have been the first of your class,” Fabio said.

“It goes without saying since I was master Nikos’ only student.”

“That was meant as a compliment...”

“I know, I was just messing around, sorry.”

“Guess that all those years of studies must have paid off well, at the end.”

“It’s... complicated, to say the least.”

Complicated... Was ‘complicated’ the right word? Maybe it wasn’t, after all, and he just perceived his experience as such. Understandable. Schmendrick had always had the tendency to overcomplicate everything, and maybe it was that tendency that had held him back for such a long time.

“I’ve always thought of wizards as some sort of cold, detached brainiacs. Never met one before, to be honest-”

“Then you met Schmendrick and realize that wizards can be blockheads like everyone else,” Molly intervened. “Welcome to my life.”

“To be fair, I would have been more disappointed to have my preconceptions confirmed. He’s more approachable, at least, and likable than the idea I had before, but still, I can tell he must be the real deal when it comes to magic and- What?” Fabio looked at them, very puzzled. Molly and Schmendrick had shared a quick, amused glance. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“It’s not you, Fabio. We just had the same thought at the same time.”

“What thought?”

“That, probably, if you had met Schmendrick a few years ago, you wouldn’t have thought him as anything but a cheap fraud.”

Fabio looked so bewildered that they both laughed. “We’ll explain you along the way,” Molly said, still chuckling.

Though years had passed, and his mastery had finally reached its full potential, Schmendrick remembered well his days as a vagrant, second-rate carny magician – and first-class trickster, he liked to add. They might have been a distant memory, now, but he could never forget them. He _shouldn’t_ have.

Sometimes he liked to make a joke of them, sometimes he recalled with a feeling of dread moments during which his fumbling had almost cost his and others’ safety. Other times he just felt weirdly nostalgic, as silly as it might sound even to himself.

He hadn’t always been miserable, after all. There had been some moments where his lack of craft wasn’t the end of the world for Schmendrick. Simple moments during which he would enter villages, draped in his tattered garments, to be surrounded by welcoming folks, ready to offer him shelter and a warm meal for the night. All in all, it cost them less than pretend to be in awe in front of his shoddy tricks to make him feel good about himself.

With his sleights, his stories, some well-placed ‘abracadabras,’ Schmendrick made children stare in wonder - children that now were older than him. Grown men invited him for a beer, humorously asking him whether he was able to actually call a woman out of thin air to keep him warm at night; women offered him pieces of cloth to mend his robes in exchange for a little help around the house. Those were moments that made him think that, after all, it was worth keeping on trying.

Every time Schmendrick felt too weary and defeated, ready to give up, sick and tired of his ineptitude, he would have thought about those moments. About eyes, faces, laughter, warm smiles... and he would have kept going. He still thought about them, and those memories never failed to make him crack a smile.

The magician quickly glanced at Molly as she was chatting with Fabio. As usual, it was easier for her to get along with other people, more prone to open her heart, welcoming others. It made him feel immensely glad to see her so at ease, spontaneously smiling and talking. His right hand went almost involuntarily to a pocket in his cloak, quickly brushing its content. 

“What’s with that face, Schmendrick? Are you still sulking because I call you out on your know-it-all speech earlier?” Molly had noticed he was looking at them.

“No, I’m thinking about the direction we should be taking now.”

“Are we going the right way?”

Schmendrick closed his eyes and focused. The forest they were in grew above an underground river that merged in the sea stretch they had crossed. They just needed to follow its course in reverse, and they would have reached for the city safely enough, without deviations that would have made them lose precious time.

He caught the soft murmuring of the river flowing underneath them and felt the pulse of water telling, without a doubt, where they should head. “This way,” the magician nodded and lead the way to their left.

“Do tell, how do you know so surely?”

“Because, contrarily to what you are convinced of, Molly dearest, I’m a good listener, and I can appreciate what silence has to tell us, sometimes.”

“Did you hear that, Fabio?” Molly turned to the soldier. “Fear not, we are not going to let you down.”

Fabio had been silent for some minutes, now. He still was dreading Her. Since the celebration, the soldier hadn’t seen her and couldn’t be sure that she was following them. He couldn’t be sure of the contrary either, though...

“We promised you,” Molly went on. “You will be safe. We won’t let Her have you.”


	5. FABIO

FABIO

_Song: Millenovantanove (Roberto Vecchioni)_

_A soldier remembering his lost love, a love born during the Crusades. My, haven’t I bawled my eyes out when I listened to this for the first time, years ago..._

Fabio was sitting under a quiet sky full of stars, the like of which he hadn’t been seen in a very long while. He narrowed his gray eyes, trying to make out the constellations; Orion, Perseus, the Pleiads... At 40 years old, he still had a soft spot for mythology.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Molly's pleasant voice echoed behind him. She sat down by him, hugging her knees and glancing up.

“It is.”

“I spent most of my life in the outdoors, but I’ve never grown tired of such a spectacle,” Molly went on, the stars reflecting in her tawny eyes. “I felt luckier of any king’s daughter or rich lady, for a sky full of stars cannot be compared to any tapestry, or drape, however rich and adorned. Provided, when it didn’t rain,” she added, laughing.

“Where’s Schmendrick?”

“Doing the washing-up.”

“Does he never use magic for that?”

“No, he says it’s ‘disrespectful.’ Of course, the levels of disrespect vary basing on how much of a lazy-ass he is feeling...” Molly turned to face the soldier. “Who are you trying to forget, Fabio?”

He glanced at her. In those few days, he had already had the pleasure to appreciate Molly’s sensitivity and insightfulness. He made a gurgling sound, indicating he was quietly laughing to himself.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d love to listen to it if you wish to tell me.”

Fabio pinned himself on his elbows and looked up. “You know, Molly... We used to spend a lot of time, under a sky like this, together, counting the stars, fifteen years ago. I remember so well the first time I caressed his cheek, under that sky.”

For a moment, Molly felt perplexed. Had she misheard Fabio? She was about to ask him, but then she decided to keep quiet and to listen. The soldier’s eyes were distant, deep, lost in his memories of war, enemies, wounds, and him.

“He was my comrade-in-arms. We shared the same tent. I didn’t like him much, at first,” Fabio turned to look at Molly, with an almost mocking expression painted on his face, as if he was expecting Molly to back away from him. “He kept on blabbering about how that war was God’s will, that we were conquering the land in His name, in His glory and will. ‘No, Damien, it’s men’s will. It’s our will, _my_ will!’ Man, did he get pissed when I told him so!”

He made that gurgling sound again, now softer and more heartfelt. “I wonder,” he said, finally, “if his God would save him, now. Well, he better hold tight onto his belief. What it’s done, it’s done, and he cannot change what has been between us. He might try to forget, but I know he’ll never, as neither will I.”

“What has become of him, Fabio?”

“Oh,” Fabio looked away, somber, despite his attempts of being casual. “I suppose he’s happily married to a cheerful lady if I have to believe in the stories merchants tell. Good for him.

“I wonder,” he said, after a while, almost to himself. “I wonder if he still writes poetry and if he sometimes remembers me when he looks at his scars. I wonder if he’s happy. As for me, I’m not. I still dream of him; I dream of challenging him in a duel, filling his heart with my sword to make him feel all the senseless pain and grief he had caused me. I tried so hard to forget in all of these years. I had adventures, I had drunk each night his heart’s worth in wine, and still... Still...”

He spoke no more. Molly held out a hand and put it on his arm, silently. Fabio took it, still without a word.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wasn’t crying; Molly could tell by his eyes that he must have shed enough tears in his life to have ended his supply.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you,” she said, gently wrapping her thin arm around the soldier’s sturdy shoulders.

“No, Molly. It’s good for me to talk about it. I – damn, I don’t have many occasions to talk about it, after all. I think I have rarely told anyone. But I knew you would have listened, Molly,” he held her hand, looking for comfort. “You are a good woman.”

“Ah, don’t say that. I’m not a-”

“You are, Molly. I could tell from the very first moment I saw you and Schmendrick I could trust you. I knew it. I could feel you two would have understood me, my sorrow...” He noticed Molly’s look and kept quiet, realizing he was upsetting her. He sighed and let go of her hand. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s alright,” Molly slowly got up. “Maybe it’s better if we get back to the camp. It’s warmer there, and I’m sure Schmendrick is growing worried about us.”

In a rustling of night dew, the wet grass yielded under their feet, the chirping of crickets silencing to their approaching steps.

“Tell me more about Damien,” Molly said, encouraging.

“He was brave. In my opinion, too brave, to the point of recklessness, despite his sanctimonious ways. I have lost count of how many times I had to mend his wounds. That idiot... Achilles and Patroclos, we had been nicknamed. If only our fellow soldiers had known what was going on between us.”

“Why couldn’t you stay together after the war had ended?”

“I’ve been asking myself the very same question for a long time, Molly. He said we couldn’t, simple as that. We said our farewell and left. Damien... He had his ideas, and he could be frightfully strict when he came to them. So strict, in fact, that he asked me to never look for him ever again. He didn’t want to see me again, ever.”

“What a jerk!”

“Yes. A true jerk. A jerk I was – and I still am – madly in love with. Guess someone must have cursed me. Do you think Schmendrick can help me with that?”

“It depends,” the magician had walked towards them, in the meantime, and had caught their last sentence. “What kind of curse do you want me to help you with?”

“Can you help me stop loving a twat?” Fabio asked, half-humorously, half-seriously. Schmendrick made a clicking sound with his tongue.

“I’m afraid not. No magic in the world can help you with that, as inconvenient that might be for you.”

“Pity. Guess I’ll just live on like I had done for the past fifteen years.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be so pessimistic. I’m sure that in Samarcan there’s plenty of handsome fellows you can pick to forget that longed-for moron that has had a hold on your heart for such a long time. That would be far more effective than any spell or charm I can ever cast upon you.”

“I’m afraid that yours is an overconfident statement, my friend,” Fabio wearily smiled. “I don't think I could ever-”

“Well, that’s upon you, soldier. It’s your life, after all.”


	6. MEDEA

MEDEA

_Song: Le rose blu (Roberto Vecchioni)_

_The very poetic and peculiar prayer of a man offering himself and beyond in exchange for his loved one’s ‘blue roses,’ so rare and invaluable that nothing compares to them._

Molly groaned softly in her slumber but did not awoke, when Schmendrick gave her a delicate stroke on the hair, tucking her in. She was so tired. They had traveled far that day in an attempt to gain more time. Schmendrick then proceeded to put another log on the bonfire and looked around. Fabio had been looking at him for the entire time, without a word, twiddling his golden crest in his fingers.

“You don’t feel like talking much tonight, aren’t you?”

“No, not really, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Fabio brushed his short hair. “It’s just... Ah, nevermind, too many thoughts on my mind, I might get down to pray a little.”

“I’ll leave you alone, then.”

“You don’t pray?”

Schmendrick took a deep breath. “I- I don’t know if what I do can qualify as ‘praying,’ to be fair. I address the moon with foolish pleas, I bore the sea with absurd prayers, songs, and poetry, and I look beseechingly at the sky, knowing that we are the only imperfect stars in the picture.”

“Alright, alright, at each one their rituals, I guess.”

“Speaking of which, I’ll go have a talk with a lady, so if you’ll excuse me...”

“Ahah, what?” Fabio actually laughed a little, sitting upright and looking at the wizard, both amused and surprised. “Are you serious?!”

“Do I look like I’m joking, right now?” Schmendrick pressed a hand on his chest and rose an eyebrow solemnly.

“Does Molly know?”

“Of course she knows. She even encourages me to do so,” Schmendrick replied, still serious.

Fabio whistled low, still not sure if Schmendrick was just messing with him. He decided he would have played along, just to see how much of a straight face the magician was able to keep. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s the most beautiful lady the world has ever seen. Absolutely stunning, so beautiful your eyes would hurt when you look at her for too long as if you have stared directly at the sun.”

“And how’s your lady named? How is this splendid maiden known among mortals? What’s the name she’s addressed with by adoring lips and quivering voices?”

“Medea.”

“A fair name for a fair lady.” Fabio laughed again, shaking his head. “Alright, do not make your lovely lady Medea wait, then! But you owe me an explanation, Schmendrick.”

Schmendrick mockingly waved a hand as he walked away in a rustling of leaves and snapped twigs. Of course, nothing sketchy was going on; nothing was preventing him from having his “talk” in front of Fabio, but he preferred not to, as he preferred not to do that when Molly was present. Still, Schmendrick was quite jealous of those moments and needed his privacy.

He found a nice place under a hazelnut, where he sat, crossing his legs. Schmendrick fumbled in the inner pocket of his cloak, the one closest to his heart, pulled out a small silver locket and looked at it for a while. Schmendrick delicately caressed the smooth surface of the locker with the tip of his fingers, imagining he was actually stroking the soft, thin hair sealed inside. He let out a sudden, anguished sob and covered his eyes with a hand

“Aaah, I promised you that I wouldn’t have cried this time,” he said, quickly brushing his eyes, wiping away some tears. Schmendrick took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Be patient, Medea. It still hurts too much.”

He thought of a dream taken away too soon, in the span of a single lullaby, in the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. A dream they had to suddenly forget about, a memory still too painful to bear, but that was all that it was left for them to cherish and grief. He thought about their anger; so much anger, confusion, sorrow, and foolishness in their desperate quest for reasons. 

Fabio had asked him if he prayed. How could he? How could he really believe in a deity, whatever deity, that had so much fun playing with pain in such a cruel way? And yet, he had prayed – oh, he had prayed so much - like he had never done; he remembered how he had foolishly offered his own life.

_To what use, anyway? Trading my life with hers would be way too easy. Life can be taken away so quickly that such an exchange wouldn’t be enough... Life itself it’s nothing if you haven’t lived it._

_What do You want, then? What can I give You? I can offer You myself, who am I, who I have been, and who I will ever be... All that I have dreamed of, all that I have lost, everything I’ve longed for, and everything that awaits for me: every dawn, every sunset, every laughter. I’ll give You the fear I felt each time I messed a spell up so badly Nikos was forced to punish me, every moment of awe during which I managed to make words cry and giggle and magic work._

_Every single kiss, it’s Yours. Every mistake, every success, every day I have raised my fists in frustration and anger, every curse, every humiliation, every single night spent with my heart in my throat, I’ll give it to You. And joy, and happiness, and folly... It’s all Yours. Leave me empty, lifeless, stripped of everything that makes life truly worth living._

_So be it, I’ll be an anonymous fool, a worm, a worthless blow of air in an already breathless pipe. I’ll accept it. I’ll never have seen the sea, I’ll never have made love, never wrote anything... I’ll forget what I have believed in and whom I have loved, as if I have never believed in anything, or loved anyone. No light, gentle drizzle will ever be able to drench my skin, as no poetry will ever be able to fill my heart with wonder, as soon as this life – that life – won't be my life, anymore._

_But You do know what I want in return for all of this. I know You do._

_..._

_Still not enough, I assume._

Schmendrick closed his fist around the locket, pressing it on his heart, letting the tears run freely now, hanging his head. He cried until he felt better before he put the locket back in his pocket, giving it one last kiss, wishing Medea goodnight, and got up, walking to the camp. Fabio was already sleeping, softly snoring, and Molly was still in her bedroll. Schmendrick removed his cloak and his hat and snuggled by Molly’s side. She made a sleepy sound and slowly opened her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Don’t worry,” she yawned drowsily, letting him cradle her in his arms. She peeked up, under a half-closed lid, and lift her head, concerned. “What’s up? Are you alright?”

“I am. I just got a little emotional...”

“How’s Medea?” Molly held his hand, suddenly understanding.

“She says she loves you and that she’s very proud of her mama,” Schmendrick gently flickered Molly’s nose with a finger, making her snigger and hide her face in his chest. Her chuckle quickly turned into a sobbing, a quiet yet deep sound that spoke volumes about her sorrow.

“I know, I know. I miss her, too,” Schmendrick woefully whispered, gently petting Molly and tightening his grip around her. “I miss her every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a lot about this chapter, and I was not sure if it was appropriate to give a more detailed backstory about Molly and Schmendrick's loss. I decided to just leave it hinted, since the chapter is gloomy enough already. 
> 
> I’m an atheist: I found it quite challenging to put an actual prayer in one of my fictions, as unconventional as said prayer might be.


	7. DAMIEN

DAMIEN

_Song: Andrea (Fabrizio de Andrè)_

_Young Andrea mourns a lost love during World War I._ _My, haven’t I a knack for extra-sad songs about tragic love stories between guys?!_

“Fabio, do you ever feel lost? Like you do not know what you are doing on Earth?”

The young soldier dried his face with a tattered, coarse piece of cloth and turned to look at his fellow comrade. Weird, to hear Damien talk that way; usually so confident in a world beyond, in a greater purpose, so annoyingly aware of his own place and role in life, now the black-aired man looked confused and frightened.

“I-”

“I mean,” Damien huffed, interrupting Fabio. “I _know_ why I am here, who I am, and what am I to do with my life. But I do not know if it’s what I want. Is this what I ever wanted to be?”

“Well, ask God. That’s what you usually do, don’t you?” Fabio curtly said, turning to the glass fragment they used as a mirror to check if he had missed any spot while shaving. He really didn’t want to engage in any of Damien’s religious fits. They usually ended up fighting, adding more strain to their already rocky relationship.

“Don’t be like that. I’m- I really need some advice, right now.”

“Is it because of yesterday’s attack on the citadel? Is that what’s bothering you?”

Damien hung his head, clearly conflicted, and finally admitted, “Yes.”

“Damien, you fought like a lion! You are one of the backbones of this battalion and a terrific soldier.”

“I know! What I don’t know is if I want to be that! I do not know if I want to keep doing this. But what else could I do? I’ve been raised to be a warrior, since childhood, I’ve never known anything else! Fight, pray, pray, and fight, over and over again.”

Fabio looked at him silently, not really knowing what to say. As much as his tent-mate looked lost in a quagmire of doubt and confusion, Fabio had to admit that it was glad to see Damien finally showing a different side of himself.

“I’ve never got to stop and think about it before, Fabio. And now... Now, I do, and I fear what I am realizing.”

“Why? What does scare you?”

“Myself,” Damien’s blue eyes reflected in Fabio’s grey ones. “My desires, my will. It’s so strange... I fear nothing in battle, but I’m so scared of such simple things that are part of me and have always been. I’m scared by my will to stop killing, my longing for a more peaceful life, by me writing poetry-”

“You write poetry?”

Damien opened and closed his mouth, realizing he had said too much, embarrassed. Fabio tilted his head reassuringly, his arms folded on his chest.

“I’d love to read some of your works if you wish to show me.”

* * *

Fabio was feeling somewhat weary, not knowing exactly why. After all, he was a soldier. He was used to much more exhausting marches and tasks. Maybe it was the fear that was draining him or Her constant, invisible presence hovering over his head. Not even Schmendrick and Molly’s company seemed to be of any help, despite their thoughtfulness and care.

Was he feeling sorry for himself? Not quite. Mad? Oh, yes. A lot. He could never forgive himself for his lack of courage that day. Fabio had stood in front of the well for a long, long time, measuring with his eyes its depth, hoping it to be deeper than his own self. He had thrown some of Damien’s poems in it, looking at them soaking in water. Instead of jumping in as well, he had left with a new weight burdening his heart. His cowardice was the perfect match for his grief.

Fifteen years had passed, and still, he couldn’t get over it. He had become a mercenary, a reckless adventurer who masked his faults with cold calculation, daring audacity, or cunning bravery, depending on the occasion. Yet, Fabio felt empty, shallow...

Samarcan seemed to him like some sort of promised land, where he could find himself, start over. There, he could make amends, come to peace with his past and himself. And with Damien.

“Damien had died during one of the last, decisive battles of the war we fought together. I couldn’t see him. I didn’t get to tell him goodbye. Simply, he died on the battlefield.”

Schmendrick and Molly shared a quick, saddened glance. Fabio had felt the urge to come clean with them, as they progressively approached Samarcan, uncomfortable with the lie he had told them about his lost lover.

“It felt less painful to think him still alive and well, even if in someone else’s company. I almost wish that’s the case, sometimes; I’d rather want to know that he is somewhere, happy and alive, instead of dead in a shallow grave, far from his home.”

According to what Fabio had been told, Damien had died a hero with God’s name on his lips, even at the end. Fabio wasn’t sure about how he was supposed to feel about that. It was coherent with Damien’s character, but still...

“It’s weird how I’m running away from Her now, as I had eluded her that day, in front of the well. I still don’t know why I didn’t just throw myself in it. Maybe I just happened to think about a conversation about life I had with Damien before he died, and I lacked the courage to do it. No wonder She’s after me. I eluded Her fifteen years ago.”

Fabio scoffed and shook his head. He had happened to remember that conversation right at that moment. It felt ridiculous: he hadn’t thought about it since, after all. Why now? Why Damien’s words would pop into his mind almost out of the blue? He didn’t know, but it felt good to recall them. They made him feel less tired.

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Damien?”

“At too many things, Fabio. Too many, too big...”

“Won’t you tell me at least about one?”

“I’ll do more. I’ll tell you about all of them at once. I’m thinking about life, Fabio. I’m thinking of how small life is and how strong and true it is. I think that life is so small and so big at the same time that it is almost impossible to think that one day you have to leave it, so much so that you might get to plant a tree, at the end of your days, with the hope to see its flowers blossom.”

“That’s a beautiful thought.”

“You think so? Myself, I think it’s kinda scary, what our will of life can do to us, on what paths it can lead us.”

“You think too much, sometimes. Why don’t we just enjoy this moment, this beautiful sky above our heads? Isn’t it life, too?”

“Maybe you are right, Fabio. I’m afraid that I sometimes forgot to just allow life to amaze me.”

“Can I help you with that?”

“Yes. Yes, you can.”


	8. SAMARCAN

SAMARCAN

_Song: Samarcanda (Roberto Vecchioni), last two verses._

_The soldier finally reaches for the city of Samarcanda, where he finds someone waiting for him._

Samarcan white towers stood up in the distance in the purplish dawn mist, like a reassuring lighthouse showing itself to weary sailors. A vast meadow chirping with crickets and crawling night creatures stood in front of it, one last patch of land before the final destination of the three weary and cold travelers. Little by little, as they approached them, the towers started to be coated with burnished gold-colored rays of the rising sun. Promising, they thought. No harm could come from such a beautiful sight, after all.

“Well, Fabio,” Molly yawned. “Looks like we are to say our farewells in an hour or so. How do you feel?”

“I’m not sure, Molly. I know I should be happy, and relieved, to finally be here, but still...”

“You are just tired. We have ridden all night long, after all, to save time. You’ll see things more clearly, after a good night's sleep.”

Maybe Molly was right... Perhaps he just needed to rest, finally. But the closer they got, the more oppressed he felt, defeated and downtrodden, and he felt sure that not even Molly believed in her own words. All those perspectives of a new life in the city seemed now shallow and ridiculous to the soldier.

The towers were getting close, now. They could now spot the gates being opened to welcome the farmers coming for the daily market, in a long caravan of carriages and wagons. They didn’t hurry, though. No one felt like rushing to that city that, enticing at first, was now growing more and more ominous.

All those feelings found their explanation as soon as they were close enough to the gates, where Fabio could make out the silhouette of a figure dressed in all-black. There She was. She had preceded him. The soldier knew that Schmendrick, too, had seen Her, judging by the pained expression in his eyes.

“Did you expect Her to be already here?” Fabio asked, wearily but calm. Schmendrick bit his lower lip, hesitated, but then nodded.

Although she could not see anything, Molly had immediately understood what was going on, who her two companions had seen. She spurred her horse in a sudden movement as if to get in front of Fabio, to cover his run. The soldier held out an arm, gently, but firmly.

“No,” he simply said in a very low voice. Hanging his head, he got off his horse and walked on. He was tired of running away now. It was time.

Molly felt angry, panicked... In a frenzy, she jumped off her own horse and tried to run after him. Her feet did not respond, though, and she remained still, thunderstruck, looking at Fabio slowly walking towards Her. Molly knew She was there; she could not see Her, but she knew. She remembered the dreading feeling of Her presence very well, after all. Molly stood, still staring in front of her until she could no longer see through the blurry screen of tears filling her eyes. In a blink of an eye, Fabio was gone. No goodbyes, no farewells... The soldier simply was no more.

It took Molly a while to remember where she was. She winced, came back to herself with an anguished gasp, after what felt like months of frozen disbelief, and looked around, looking for Schmendrick. The magician had turned his back to the scene, in a pose that Molly knew very well. He wasn’t saddened: he was ashamed.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked. “You knew everything.”

“I did,” Schmendrick simply said, in the blankest tone he could come up with.

“Since when?”

“From the beginning. I knew She wasn’t glaring at him. She wasn’t looking at him with malice but with bewilderment. She was expecting for him here, today, and was astonished to see that he was still so far away from Samarcan, five days ago, maybe afraid that he would not make it on time... That’s why we had been able to travel so easily and smoothly. She was waiting for him in Samarcan.”

“So you knew we were bringing him straight in Her arms, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Yes,” Schmendrick confessed again, still without looking at Molly.

“Why?”

“What do you want me to say, Molly?” Schmendrick peeked from above his shoulder. “That I knew everything, but I didn’t tell you because I was sure that you would have tried to help him anyway? That I didn’t tell you because the idea of at least trying to save Fabio would have given you closure?”

“Do not,” seething, Molly marched to him and forced the magician to turn to look at her. “Do _not_ try to make it look like you did this to help me, Schmendrick! You,” her voice trembled, painfully. “You should have told me! If I had known, I would not have hoped until the end that we would have made the difference, this time!”

“You would have anyway, and you know it.”

“Oh, and I guess you did, too!”

“Yes,” Schmendrick said, and his voice quivered slightly. “Yes, I did hope. Even if I knew, I hoped until the very end.”

His reply took aback Molly, and she knew he was sincere. She was aware that she, too, would have hoped anyway, even if she had known that Fabio was destined to go from the beginning. After all, they both have hoped, a long ago, that Medea would have lived anyway, even if they knew too well that that wasn’t meant to be. With a tight knot in her throat, Molly closed her eyes.

“You should have told me, Schmendrick.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” the magician held her hand. Though well-meaning, he had realized that he had hurt Molly by not telling her anything. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Molly slowly wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his chest. She felt the locket he kept hidden in his cloak, near his heart, painfully pressing against her temple. Her lips trembled, feeling that touch, but she managed not to cry. “You... you are so maddening, sometimes, that you make me want to scream.”

Not knowing what else to say, Schmendrick just kept on smoothing her hair, silently. He had messed up again, with his stupid presumption of knowing what could be right for Molly and his foolish attempts to shelter her from sorrow. Schmendrick pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Forgive me, Molly,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright,” she rose her eyes, meeting his gaze. “I understand why you did it. Don’t get me wrong, I am hurt, and I’m pissed with you, but I know what you were trying to do.”

Molly separated from his embrace and held up both hands, placing them on his face, wiping away some tears. “Hey, now,” she said, now with a softer voice. “Don’t. I told you it’s alright. I just need to get over with it, okay? Just do not do it again. Talk with me next time, so we can work things out together.”

Schmendrick nodded and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said finally. Holding hands, they turned their backs and walked away, leaving the white towers of Samarcan behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOWNER ENDING!
> 
> Experimenting with song-inspired chapters had been fun - relatively, given that the main theme of the story is grief and loss! - but it's a little too "episodic", for my own taste, that's why I reduced the number of songs and chapters. It would have become too much of a collection of disjointed fragments.  
> All in all, I enjoyed this. It's flawed, yes, and not one of the best things I have ever written, but as a first experiment, I'm satisfyied enough with how it had turned out. It surprised me the gloomy direction it has taken, my first draft was much lighter! Guess I had to take some burdens off my chest...


	9. BONUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little extra about a dream Schmendrick has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra-chapter I had written after listening to "Elizabeth, You Were Born To Play That Part" by Ryan Adams. It didn't fit well in the story, but I liked it. It's somewhat of an extension of the 6th chapter.  
> As I have already written, I needed to take off some burdens from my chest, and this felt extremely therapeutic. Again, I hadn't meant to give a more detailed backstory about Medea, but it felt fine writing this.  
> Maybe I should have written it from Molly's point of view, since I tend to not dedicate her much attention. Since the song is sung by a male voice and that sometimes grieving fathers get a little overlooked, I preferred to stick to what I have already started in chapter 6.

Schmendrick delicately held Medea in his arms, tickling her nose as he used to do. He softly chuckled, looking at the baby yawning and blinking, looking intently at his face, with her deep and unusual green eyes. He had always wondered how babies saw the world... He liked to think that they had their own perspective and hoped that Medea was happy to see him, even if she couldn’t verbalize it. Judging from how she smiled at him, she was. He would always remember the first time she had smiled at him; it had filled him with so much joy he feared he would have died on the spot. Schmendrick had happened to think of Haggard... How could a smile from baby Lìr not make him happy?

The magician kept on tickling Medea, on her tiny feet, her belly, everywhere, kissing her. She started to laugh, holding his finger tightly. Her little hand grew somewhat bigger, in that of a toddler, holding Schmendrick’s hand in a trustful grip, as he guided her steps, cautiously, ready to help her up anytime she tripped. She left him to walk alone and made a false step that made her fall on her knees. The little girl sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists. Schmendrick hurried to help her and pretended to cast a spell to heal the owie, making her giggle.

With a swinging movement, Schmendrick swooped her up, and the auburn-haired, green-eyed child squealed with laughter as her father made her “fly,” holding her safely. Medea took his hat, playfully, and placed it on her head, still laughing. It covered her eyes, but she quickly grew into it as she walked around by Schmendrick’s side, still holding his hands, pointing at their surroundings, and asking him every sort of question. A curious child, like he had been, and he was ready and happy to give her all the answers she desired.

Before Schmendrick knew it, she was placing his hat back on his head as he crouched down to give her a tender pinch on the nose. It seemed that his little girl had not inherited only his eyes from him, and he needed to reassure her that a big nose was not the end of the world. Medea didn’t look convinced, to be honest. Understandable. He had had troubles accepting it, too, when he was her age, freaked at the idea of having to live with a nose that came before him by at least five minutes. He told her that, and sure enough, he managed to make her laugh, and he promised he would have taught her a few more jokes like that.

Schmendrick got back up and gave a little pat on the back of the girl Medea had become. Now, she needed to stand up straight, no slouching! Such a proud a strong young lady should not walk around round-shouldered... Medea smiled at him, her green eyes glittering, and smoothed her hair – a gesture she had inherited from Molly. She was getting tall… She had always been tall for her age, but Medea had gained some extra-inches that had baffled even her parents during the last growth spurt.

And now she was becoming a lady and chatted animatedly with Molly about a certain someone she had been talking about in the past few days – _no one, dad, don’t fret it!_ Of course, she preferred to open her heart with her mother… Schmendrick could understand that she was growing closer to Molly now. Still, they used to talk much more and did so many things together, like practicing spells and charms, go for long walks... He felt a little jealous, to be honest.

Since when Medea had grown into a woman? Since when it was time for her to leave home, to go out seeking her own adventures, live her life? She wasn’t ready – _they_ weren’t! How can you not cry when you see your daughter leaving, with the promise that she would have come back soon? Never soon enough, Medea. Schmendrick was almost tempted to beg her to not go, but what could he do?

Thinking this, he realized that his dreaming of who she would have become had almost made him forgot that those were just his thoughts, his expectations… All he had ever known of Medea was there in his arms, and that was all he would ever know. But – hey – if he could dream about holding her, why couldn’t he dream about seeing her grow and live all that he had missed? If dreaming was all that it was left to him and Molly, why shouldn’t he indulge in it? He just held Medea tighter, cuddling her, and waited with a sense of oppression the moment he would have woken up. 


End file.
